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I have been in the moon
In search of love all noon
Searched through deserts
Even through garden of Eden.
I have Searched beneath the sea
Travelled wide even to overseas
Still could not find love.
I went to Vatican
Even to Mecca
Driven through the romantic sites of Paris
Bath in the Brazilian beaches
Flown across the Atlantic
Pitched my tenth for few days on the Antarctic
Spend some more on the arctic
Still I saw no love.

All I saw was lust
Angels with broken hearts,
Rotten roses,
Withered lilies,
Death faiths and monsters on beautiful faces.
I saw bullets in church offering boxes
Just wedded on number plates of ambulances.
I saw wars in diversity
Pain and mourning crowding all cities
The devil celebrating the dead of peace.

I saw three wise men
Where went love, I asked them
They said love has been nailed on the cross
Buried with trust
They are heading to Galilee
To await his return.
I followed with dreams
I met many returning with smiles of frustration
From where I was going with pregnancy of expectations.

We arrived to the scene
Like a nightmare, I witnessed higher sins
I saw men taking pleasures with men
Some with animals, some women with women.
Gun everybody walking sticks
People feeding on people flesh
With human blood the thirsting ones quench their thirst.

Is this where love is expected to return?
The wise men retorted,
Yes, the saints have been raptured
And his seven years  reign has just began.
Then in a flash, I remembered that I have been taught
Taught about this dreadful end
I had also taught kids
Under trees at nights
Just to threaten them to live right.
What I thought was a mare threat or a fallacy
Has been awaken against my fate in reality.
Oh! We are among the leftovers
Left to reprove ourselves or be doomed forever.
sara Aug 2018
I'll see what I can make
out of the leftovers I have.
Although, it's never too long
until the milk turns bad,

until a love turns sour
in an online second;
since, an online minute
wastes a real-life hour.

But in a snap-shot moment,
I can find life for weeks
on my stash of sugar truths,
until I forget to eat;

forget to breathe;
'til I don't even need to sleep
because the lovehearts on my photos
sing such soft melodies.

And despite the fact
that often I can't sit at ease,
somehow this perfect madness
always tastes so bittersweet.
a poem about the addictive nature of social media
It’s a sad, sad scene on a Saturday night;
a lady sits  at the bar with no lover  in sight.
Stirring her drink with the straw in their hand,
bemoaning the lack of a suitable man.
She’s long since been abandoned by her ”Mister Right”,
Now the magic never lasts for more than one night.
She’s a leftover lover on the wrong side of thirty.
Feeling sad for herself; not the least bit flirty.
She has a good job and a place here downtown
But a true mate and friend is nowhere to be found.
No one to go home to, except for her kitty,
A sad denouement for one once thought to be pretty.
“Either they’re momma’s boys or they’re ***”
She thinks of the “talent” she sees on display.
She knows all too well that, in a drink or two,
She’ll be stumbling home with Mister He’ll do.
Inspired by an article that posits that singles over the age of thirty are mostly damaged goods being picked over like items in a thrift store
Viridian Mar 24
There isn't really much of a poem
Just a couple of lines or so that depict how stupid I feel, how weak I am, and how naïve I've become
To be used, chewed, and spat back out
Given to another to have it done all over again
How did that saying go?
Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern?
Well, let's hope a third doesn't appear.
It's bad enough I was used as sloppy seconds.
I suppose some apples don't fall too far from the trees they surround themselves with.
Some things aren't sad
They aren't painful or grievous
Perhaps they're just stupid
Like, it's baffling to even admit
How could something so idiotic...
Just slip past your senses?
Beck May 14
under a table,

behind the door

where nothing is cleaned

not even the floor.

there, lies a body,

collected with dust

piled under splinters, cobwebs, and rust.


its breathing, though ceased,

by a soul, never noticed

the family moves on

never wishing to know it.

roaches and rats snigger with glee,

as the body decays,

first a hand, then a knee.


but, a moment's not passed,

when a slam of the door

finds that He has returned,

to take one thing more.

He looks and he scowls,

finding, perhaps, one thing of use...

a leg of the thing

he once had abused,


"Good for a table,

this leg might be!

but its so sickly, and thin,

what use is it to me?"

he examined the leg,

for a minute or less

and finally said,

with no shortage of breath


"what good were you girl? you did nothing for me.

not this house, not this wallet...

not this family!

for you sat and you sulked,

and you fell on the floor,

and it was quite hard to hide

that you looked such a sore.

and you'd cry and you moan,

until finally you stopped,

but even then, you'd not budge

for a sponge or a mop!

what good were you,

to exist in this way?

where you slept in a bed,

for which, i had to pay?

if you left us much sooner,

before we could see

your bruised little leg and dis-located knee,

we might have not stopped you

from growing so vast,

if you had been good,

if you had worked fast!

But, if you had died,

and we knew then

what we do now,

we could have left you

much sooner, you cow!

but since you've survived,

and we've taken your all,

We must do it ourselves,

and bury you whole."


and the girl, as she slumped

on those wooden floorboards,

did not kick or punch,

or demand her own words,


for she knew how He felt,

when he saw such a sight,

her skin and her bones, were,

Oh!

quite a fright...

but she did decide

that she'd mention one thought,

for it left and gone

without once being taught.


And this was who she was

cracks, bones, and skin,

with wishes and hopes,

in loss or win.


for the love of all

she, weekly, would pray,

that she might be able

to love one, someday.

she looked up once more,

to the hand holding her knee,

and she spoke such a truth,

which made her instantly free:


"you knew me not here,

nor when i was born,

and certainly not now,

though, my legs, you have torn.


Look at this body,

my blue skin and bones,

and KNOW there's one thing

you never have known!

that this sunken-in skull,

which longed for a dream,

within it, still lives

some incredible things!


Though leaving this world,

though no good for you,

though, you threw me your scraps,

if you threw just a few,

I'll fly and I'll live

past all of your years,

you have not a soul,

you shed not a tear!


O, timeless I'll be,

despite lack of drink

but look at you, sir,

your head does not think!

Yes!

Look at me now,

while withered

I may be,

and know this you bore,

you never knew me!"
*TRIGGER WARNING* (themes of depression, abuse, isolation, generally non-so-happy verbiage)
----
I like to write things that let me express inner emotions...

While a lot of it is pretty grim, I think the ending is sort of empowering because the person in the poem has this sort of message (lesson?) that the Other never "knew" her.

I can't really describe why I find this comforting... I guess because it sort of shows that the very people who do so much wrong to us never really knew us, so there is/was a part that they can never touch, betray, or understand. Meaning, we have won... we have kept a part of ourselves unharmed even if it's a minute part that holds dreams and beliefs and whatever else.. I wonder if anyone can relate.
Becca Lansman May 2017
Give it back.
I did not build myself from paper mache only to wooed by a man undeserving of everything that makes me powerful.
I know I should not cry.
God—I know I should not ******* cry.
You are undeserving of the ocean that swells inside me— I will not spill for you.
I will not let you lick up the salt.
You have taken enough. Built this storm inside my chest only for it wrap itself around my lungs.
To the **** boy that stole my heart and threw it in the garbage as if it was leftovers: I am still searching through plastic bottles and used tissues.  
Trying to dust myself off
but i am still  the **** of your sick joke. The ***** newspaper. Yesterdays comic.
“Just another *** that wants your ****.” They scoff. As if I am nothing more than a carcass.

Burn me to ashes. Dust to dust.

Hollow me out. Chop off my *******. **** everything beautiful out of me until I am a shell of a woman. Sticking pins and needles in myself to keep from falling apart.
Wipe your feet on me. Twirl my hair in your fingers. Grab my ***. Anything. This is your world. Choke the feminist right out of me.

I’ll scream your name.

To the **** boy that stole my heart: I hope you fall in love with a powerful woman.  A woman who demands the respect I never could.
Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
the Silence became
like an old lesson learned

a broken heart intones
a voiceless song
resonating a refrain of Silent echoes
in a voice that never heard a word
yet spoke so clearly ... lingering
in realms of subtle ambiance

soundless remnants
stacked neatly as
building blocks;  
another brick in a wall,
already too tall to see beyond—
growing like a bunker
without a sense of safe harbor

as the Silence became
time and space,
a stillness beset the melancholy air
as if a world without song
foreboding an unpredictable storm
beget vestiges of broken windfall,
reticent leftovers hushed after a gale

s i l e n t l y

an acorn fallen  — became a mighty Oak

a wind-broke twig — became a weeping willow

a neglected child — became mother nature's son

the Silence became
        a blind prophet —
in its voice held forth
smatterings of truth
and undertones of an unrequited
fool’s hope

the Silence became
a strong, abrupt rush of wind
uttering voiceless exhalations of breath;
a hovering dawn mist
    befallen after a summer storm—
surrounding all in all
bedewed in a feigned peace


... the unabated sounds of silence
become


Jesse Stillwater ... July 20th, 2018
Thank you or reading —
laura May 2018
my life is hella fun right now
you like to sing in the shower
while i try to cook food in the kitchen
mornings are great, leftovers are greater
and you want some, you always want
some in the morning
and i feel the breeze for the first time

people say i'm weird but hey
i'm from ohio
and everyone is weird here
go outside and forget to wear some pants
but i rock plaid got two more
weeks til i’m off probation
been writing too long and now i’m
saying just don’t mess things up
Abigail Hobbs Apr 2018
Love was knowing our first touch
in that dimly lit room
just the two of us
and the sound of quiet charm
your lips meeting mine
and the way you gazed at me
Love was knowing you were there
Love was just the two of us
and our delicate touch
Love was...
You.

Love was not this taste of leftovers
or my tears falling to my lips
or the way I crave a delicate touch
and the safety of your arms
or the comfort of your warmth
Love was not the way you abandoned ship
Love was not supposed to be like this
Love was to be around you
Love was how I fit with someone I barely knew
Love was...
You.
2/8/18
Anastasia Feb 2018
It used to be ******* real,
Now you kind of fit in my
Rhymes.

Nothing personal baby,
Just still some leftovers of lust.

It used to be ******* close
To how they describe feeling
‘Love’.

Now you’re nothing,
But the realest ghost of my past.
Silent Moon Jul 2018
I let myself onto the table
People feeding off of me
Biting down deep and hard
Not even caring why I have come this far

They want more leftovers
But I am the leftovers from my messes
I have been put into different containers
Spreading myself farther and farther apart
Where were you when I was falling apart?

But you were the one who broke my heart
Another broken heart take some more starving art
You smiled and said “I’m not cruel”
You had me fooled.
avalon Nov 2017
conversational   tones too often
tumble into sloppiness, leaving
my words marked with fumble
-d caresses and stuttering half-t
-houghts. i don't leave you with
my leftovers on purpose, they d
-ropped  into my purse when i c
-ame to see you today. a lot of th
-ings drop into  my mind when i
see you. but it's mostly  your wo
-rds. perhaps my only love affair
was with the   letters you placed
under my name. i never wanted
to be beautiful until you wrote o
-f it with a ball point pen;  never
dreamt of living extravagantly u
-ntil you dusted me in spices and
sparks with flecks of ink and the
marks of your fingers. you crafte
-d everything you loved about m
-e. you are the only reason i am e
-xtravagantly in love  with the fle
-cks and sparks under my skin. y
-ou planted whispers beneath my
eyes and called them  dangerous.
but only you      were  dangerous
to                                               ­  me
this is new. this is the breath of winter as it fogs before your eyes, this is disguise, this is the hundred times you laugh before you start to cry.
Marianna Nov 2018
i am the dark nights and the pouring rain,
the leftovers and the wine stains
i am the cold weather and a forgotten dream,
the 3 am coffee or your 3 am screams

i am a ghost or an empty feeling, or
i might be hanging from the ceiling
i am in the corner or right next to you, or
i could be lying six feet under you
i do not exist
Sofia Von Dec 2011
Hidden from the burden of conversation, you graze your toe across a rock
-- slice.

Pain, creeping  
wrapping its hot oils up your calf
it hurts more

no one wants to share

who understands?
don't be silly!
you’re on your own now
no one will be calling your name

So desperate

for a box you search
to hide your grief, happiness, and doubts in

some are presented with one
a carved handmade one
with gold outlines
who knows how they got one

the unlucky stumble upon the rich boxes of others
smothering them with inpatient finger prints of hope
but why
why they plead
in their constant prayers

why must they have the ***** leftovers
the cups recycled
used in a previous place for ***** samples

too small even for three people

they clean it and make due
what else can they do

Wait.
that’s what

But. Why?
are they not worthy?
****?
already fortunate?

I guess that works

and most are happy with it
see it around them
everybody has a *** cup

but what happens when everyone gets lucky?

You hide Envy?

no ignorant ones

Alone.
Day Sep 2017
love has always been my drug
what i needed in my veins
and when i met you I thought
you were the dealer of my dreams
but lately
it seems like
you used all the good ****, first
now laced and deadly leftovers you offer
still i crawl back

addicted to my own demise
Luis....please. I need more than this.
ryn Nov 2014
Everyone's got their own to nurse
Every moment, every day
They lament in the verses of their curse
Daily... More would be incited to join the fray

They want to be seen and heard
They want to be consoled
From the petty absurd
To death's design enrolled

Counting on ready ears
And arms open wide
For me to wipe my tears
And be by their side

But I too, am living my own
I too, bleed my pen dry
I too, feel the misfit of my bones
I too, have my recurrent days to ply

I guess that's just being human
Expecting solace through words of grievance
We try so feebly to share the weight of burden
In the hopes that we'd plot our existence

I understand that the urge is great
So much so that we tend to forget
Others too, have had enough on their own plate
On which we pile our leftovers without regret

I am still here but.. It's time for some quiet
Be all I could be with minimal words said
For right now it's not working, this illusion of an outlet
Because I still see demons when I lay in bed

People can't do much with something so brittle
One could stay afloat if he learns to shout
I wish I could be more to everyone but I know so little...
Of what I feel so much about...
Nassif Younes Oct 2016
Oh, right
Had another wacky dream did you?
Felt it difficult to articulate
But told your friends about it anyway did you?
One of them had a weird dream too
But you know yours was weirder
Because no one's as weird as you right?
Because you're pretty ****** up right?

No
Stop it
Dreams are just the leftovers
Of what you should have let out in the day
That's why they don't make any sense
They are the dying screams of a seed
That never saw the light

Don't be like them
Fetishising those fragments of madness
That live in absolutely everyone
Because every night your pillow is yawning
And all your bed can feel is deadweight

Come out of your cloud
And bring it down here with you.
Share it with us in a way that we can remember it
Without trying to.

Unless you really believe
That inside that quirky head of yours
There is something so special
That it makes you the envy of everyone you tell about it
That people who know what you have
Would chain themselves to their mattresses
And sleep themselves away for a glimpse
Of what only you can see
In which case,
Keep dreaming.

Well, look at that
I thought I had something interesting to say
On the topic of dreams.
But I didn't.
No one has
And no one ever will.
Khoi-San Oct 2018
Slipping on her cold blood
Indulgence uncorked
Champagne laced with poison ivy
Euphoria unfolded lapping up
The leftovers of another man's bliss
He got caught in the fish net stockings
Of a poledancer thinking
How the he'll did I miss that
The girl had ***** and a ten inch
Rocket
Tied to a crack in her back pocket
You might just end up in the
Twilight nozone lol
Jordan Hudson Dec 2018
Generation, presentation
Complaints and restraints then
Good days and bad days when
They all see what I can be in
The future and tomorrow I
Will be a true success and why
Do you all doubt me while I rhyme
I can say I will write
Until the day God will decide
When and where and how I will die
The clouds, the sky, the sun's light
Will shine upon us all right now
We will be guided and showed how
To go and rise and be wise you
And I will learn the ways these days
The proper sayings and actions we
Are gazing into space you see
Lights, shadows, crafts above
Above us all, above us tall
Above this planet, stars so small
Bright stars afar
Visible from cars
From the cities and streets below
From fields, mountains, valleys so low
On the highway, the trails, the air
Oceans, roads, coasters at fairs
Horseback, camel back, animals
Swine to divine horses and bulls
Will the people dare to stare and
Glare at the shares and the mayor
Government, tax, and presidents
Hair, and the gold from the sand dunes
And the bad old Floridan prunes
Oil, gas, and the seas water
Friends and our only one father
This world is ours not theirs so
They cannot breach our Earth you know
Until the day God will decide
When and where and how I will die
When will I die?
They will reach us all someday now
Anyway now anytime now
They will destroy or let us live
If they reach and ****, no one gives
Technology and the main plan
Is to **** off slowly and ban
All we have to protect us is
Our bare hands and our minds and this
Collection of leftovers and
The  old medicines and towers
The sky and its light, no powers
God protect us all through these sour
Bad times we are going to face
No we will not embrace or trace
The source or will we, some will not
We all should, that's our only shot
To make it out alive
Dead or alive
Let this song help you to survive
The clouds and the sky
God will let you die
You will too survive
The clouds and the sky
God will save us all
You will also fall
The clouds in the sky
The clouds and the sky
The clouds and the sky
Our world, our Earth
Our death, our birth
The clouds and the sky
The clouds and the sky
Our world, our Earth
Our death, our birth
Don't say I didn't warn you
There is a cloud
In the sky
I'm trying to get better
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